


The Collar

by Ms Mephisto (elizaria)



Series: Chosen Addiction (loosely connected fics) [1]
Category: Pitch Black (2000)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-01-14
Updated: 2006-01-14
Packaged: 2019-06-21 04:40:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15549822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elizaria/pseuds/Ms%20Mephisto
Summary: Originally posted at VinXperience Jan 14, 2006 as part of a 2005 competition; The Games People PlayTitle: The collarFandom: Riddick placed in an AU world - probably before PB. Either way the movies events are never mentioned.Pairing: Riddick/OMC (=Original Male Character)Wordcount: 1946Warnings: D/s (Dominance/submission) theme. And some leather/bondage kink.Notes: Big thanks to my betareaders — Raynedanser; she rocks mightily for offering to do so — and JSVineyard who asked to see it and gave me pointers and kickass comments and encouragement. Big thanks to both of them. And extra thanks to Kriszta for telling me to enter in the contest.





	The Collar

A complete surprise. That was what it was. Reese had never expected anything would happen because of a sleepy request one lazy morning while they were lying in bed, outfucked and content.  
_“What are you thinking?”_  
“How pretty you’d look in a collar.”  
Riddick grins at him. “In your dreams pretty boy. Not gonna happen.”  
Reese had no clue what an image he’d created inside Riddick’s head.

—————————-

  
Riddick comes up behind him, his large hand warm around his neck as he tilts his head sideways so he can nibble on the soft sensitive skin. Sigh in his ear and press a little closer. The body warm and hard against him, pressing his thighs into the kitchen table, already reeling images inside his head of him bent over and those powerful hips thrusting into him. His body is one step ahead and pressing backward, seeking more touch, more pressure. Riddick obliges, his rough warm hands gliding down, roaming over his ribs, his sides and back up again, caressing his chest. Tweaking nipples already hardening beneath the dark green t-shirt, making him twist so he can press his hips backward in an open invitation and still try to keep his nipples tight between pinching fingertips.

But he can hear Riddick chuckle at his soft moans, sliding his hands away, teasing around and quickly  _softly_  over but never those hard nips he aches for. He moves his arms so he can press Riddick’s hips closer,  _tighter_ , but he’s stopped by a strong grasp encircling his wrists. He tries to pull away, just to get the satisfaction of those hands tightening their grip, placing him as he wants; slightly bent at the waist, hands flat on the surface of the table. Reese gasps at the feel of bruises blossoming under his skin, at the teeth nipping hard at his earlobe and that dark deep voice telling him not to move.

Which he of course does, pulling the reigns a bit. He raises his body from the table but his hands aren’t many inches from the surface when they are slapped down again. Pushed down by steel fingers around his neck, bent over so his forehead touches the tabletop. “You testing me, Reese? See how far you can push?”

He can feel the thigh pushing his legs apart, just as he can clearly feel the erection pressing into him. “Spread ‘em, baby.” The other hand is tracing the contours of his back, down over his hip, his ass where it grabs hard. Pushing him around like a show dog, to stand at his master’s attention. “Don’t move. When I’m back… you’re gonna stand in this exact position.” The words are growled in his ear, hot air against his stretched neck. “I find out you moved, I’m not gonna help you with this little problem here.” The hand suddenly holds his hard erection. “Trust me boy, you do not want me to leave you like this. Put this beauty here in a cockring and I can keep you like this for hours… days if I want to. And trust me, you don’t want to know how much I love the thought of you walking around with a cockstand, framed by that silver and black leather … dressed in nothing but your new present.”

“Present?” Reese’s voice trips over the word, his mind filled with nothing but his lover’s touch, his voice, his demands.

But Riddick only makes a pleased sound in his ear, that humming rumble that makes his skin break out in goose bumps. He’s so hard it’s uncomfortable in his jeans, but it doesn’t matter. He’s Riddick’s to own, to do with as he pleases and Reese has no problems with placing that trust at his feet because he knows he takes good care of it.

When Riddick withdraws, he feels it instantly in the chill that covers his back, no longer enveloped in that warm embrace. But the shiver is from expectation rather than the cold. He stands up, his hands still firmly placed on the table top, but no longer bent over flat. Reese’s legs shake a little, not from the placement but the imagination inside his head, the not knowing what’s about to happen and the resolve to stand still when what he really wants is to run after Riddick and see what he’s up to.

“Take of your shirt.” Reese jumps at the sound of Riddick’s voice so close.  _Sneaky bastard._  He does what he’s told, of course, and another shiver breaks out as he feels the light touch of fingertips tracing his spine up to his neck. The hands delve into his hair and turn his head sideways so he can get thoroughly kissed. Soft lips and slight stubble against his chin, that slick tongue delving inside. Not asking, but taking permission that is always granted. He opens up more so he can taste his lover, trace his tongue and breathe him in. A whimper escapes when the kiss is over, the tingle in his stomach and his eyes open and glazed stare.

“Shh.” Riddick strokes his back, soothing and not what Reese wants now, but it helps him calm down and dull the edge of need. “Lights out.” The command immediately kills the soft glow of the few lights they keep on in the apartment to suit Riddick’s sensitive eyes. It’s pitch black and Reese can’t see a thing, effectively cut off and at the same time opened up. He can only feel; the hard shiny surface of the tabletop beneath his sweaty palms, the presence of his lover behind him. Close but not touching. The scent of him, the taste of him still lingering in his mouth. Never enough.

He’s moved into position again, and he can feel something cold touching his neck, making the small hairs stand up. It makes a ‘clink’ sound, so he knows it’s metallic of some kind.  _Cuffs?_  As it’s lightly, very lightly teased over his shoulders, barely touching he can smell that soft special scent of leather. It increases the heat in his belly and he arches his shoulder to get closer,  _more_.

Riddick chuckles at his response. “Like this do you?” He grabs him by his hair and lifts his head up. “Don’t move.”

He stands so still he’s proud of himself for managing it. His thighs tremble and he gulps air to try and keep his cool. But it’s hard, so hard when he feels Riddick’s hands around his throat. Gliding that leather collar around his neck, teasing him with it. When Riddick fastens the buckle Reese has to bite his lips to keep himself from moaning out loud of the feel of it, tight supple leather pressed against his fevered skin. Riddick’s fist holding it as he’s pushing him down onto the table, stretching his back in a pretty curve, leaning on his elbows.

He can feel those hands, so hot they are almost scorching his skin, tracing the edge of his jeans against his naked back he arches his hips. But he only gets another chuckle. “Down boy. You have to wait.” They tickle his skin, those fingers rough from working and playing with shivs, so lightly they draw patterns on moist skin. Merciless teasing. When they slide forward to caress his quivering stomach, up to pinch his nipples, the moans are no longer held back. He gasps as they pinch hard, rolling the hardened nubs, making him whimper and arch in heated response, breaking out in a slight sheen of sweat. His skin feels too tight, and he feels like crawling out of it, break it open. The hands lightly rolling their palms over the sensitive and swollen nipples, roaming over his ribcage, feeling it expand with every panted breath.

When they tug at the light trail of hairs just above the top button of his jeans, he pushes backwards, almost blind in his need to feel more than just the elusive hands and arms. But he finds no physical contact, instead the hands leave him completely.

“Please, Riddick. Please, please…” A string of words, needy babble ending in a whisper.

“What do you want? You want me to touch you?” His lover’s still not touching him, but he can feel his body heat close, radiating heat like an extension of his body, just another thing to tease him with. Close but not close enough.

“Yesss.” It’s gasped out, a needy broken sound that doesn’t stop. “Fuck me Riddick. Please. I need it. I need you.”

The strength in the flat palm pressing him down into the table is all the reply he needs, he spreads his legs, arches up, wanton bitch on display. The button fly is ripped open and he cries out as a hot hand grabs hold of his dick, the other roughly pulling down his pants. Nails leaving marks down his buttock and thigh. Two fingers shoved in, and he’s grateful for the clamping fist at the base of his cock or he would have blown right there. He gets a few seconds to calm down before the hand leaves him wet-tipped and dripping. The ’snick’ sound of flipping the cap open on a plastic bottle, and he can hear his lover hiss through his own deep gurgled moan as the fingers leave him.

Then there’s wet pressure and he curls his fingers, trying to find support, lost in sensations and no anchor to hold on to. His sweaty palms glide over the shiny surface, wishing for claws he could sink in so he could hold fast, press back. The hot palm brands his back, pushing him into the surface, wet skin gliding but the pressure is steady. Holding him still, off balance to do nothing but take the slow gentle push into him, inside him and it’s not enough. The stretch, the sensation of being filled, flailing to try and push back so he can swallow him in more, deeper, harder. Too gentle, too slow, and his own sobbing panting breaths are all he can hear.

Then finally, Riddick’s deep inside, splitting him open but just holding still, waiting for Reese to calm down, hands gliding over his shoulder blades onto his arms where they grip him tight. Giving him purchase, and he relaxes, finds his breath.

Wet tongue tracing his spine, nibbling on his neck, teasing the sweaty skin around the collar, whispering wicked things in his ear. His tight ass, how he’s so sexy, how he’s owned, wanted,  _his_. Hard fists clamping around his wrists, holding him in place as he feels Riddick slowly pull out, tingling sensation that bursts heat inside him. But he shoves in harder, faster, pushing the breath out of him. Riddick’s hands grab his hips hard, painting his fingertips in bruises. Seesawing, hips pounding into him, gliding over that spot that makes sparks go off behind his eyelids. His thighs are trembling, from the effort to hold on and not come yet, from straining to hold position, from feeling this powerful build inside him that drives him screaming into orgasm.

Riddick pounds into him a few more times and then his movements stutter, and Reese can hear Riddick’s groan, deep down like it’s being pulled out of him. A blanket of hot sweaty lover on top of him, sighing in his ear before he’s pulled down on the floor. Limp and sated they wrap around each other, just letting their hearts slow down and enjoy the sensations fading into nothing but the feel of each other, naked skin on skin. And a black leather collar.


End file.
